Sacrilege at IIMA: Louis Kahn's architectural legacy is integral, symbiotic

Only a petty administration would think of destroying any part of it

Louis Kahn’s architectural design of the Indian Institute of Management Ahmedabad (IIMA), often talked of in the same vein as Le Corbusier’s Chandigarh, gave the institute a unique and distinct physical identity well before it acquired a performance-based one. A replica of the stunning large circular window in the library has been a permanent exhibit in the Museum of Modern Art in New York since the early 1970s. The double-helix staircase connecting the four floors of the library and visible through a glass window is an equally striking modern design.
 

Kahn told us in his last visit to IIMA in 1975 that brick was the natural material of construction for Ahmedabad in view of its semi-desert climate. Leaving it unplastered allowed it to breathe. Hence the open brick appearance that became IIMA’s signature visage, copied often but never with the same effect. He added that the shape bricks naturally preferred was an arch, and hence the generous use of arches, circular windows and rounded, silo-like structures to house dormitory staircases.
 

Kahn was not satisfied with the quality of locally available bricks. He made his own mixture of clay and showed kiln managers how to bake bricks of uniform size and consistency, for which IIMA paid a premium, with Kasturbhai Lalbhai, the chairman of its board of governors, brushing aside all objections. Kahn demonstrated the masonry he wanted by building some structures (including an arch) himself. They were to be taken down after the training of masons, but their visual impact was so pleasing that the then IIMA director, Ravi Matthai, let them stand in the middle of open lawns between rows of faculty houses. They came to be called Mohen-jo-daro.
 

Kahn consciously minimised the use of concrete. All load-bearing structures were of brick. Stark Kota stone flooring was both aesthetic and easy to maintain. He practised green architecture long before it became a buzzword.
 

Kahn’s design embodies utilitarian and visual harmony with the conceptual underpinning of IIMA. The proximity between dormitories and faculty housing emphasised the residential nature of the institution and encouraged active interaction between the two sets of residents beyond classrooms and offices. Dormitories were exactly what the term implied — places where students slept. Their waking hours were meant to be spent in classes, libraries, open spaces, and in the relatively large common spaces for a set of five rooms. The thrust always was on spaces for extensive interaction, which was the core of the participative method of learning.
 

Faculty accommodation comprised town-houses which all looked identical from the outside. They were so cleverly planned that even though adjoining houses were attached to each other, they did not share a wall. The identical appearance, openness and respect for privacy complemented the peer culture perfectly.
 

The centrepiece of the campus was what was then called the main complex. It is an open quadrangular structure with classrooms and faculty offices forming the two long sides and the library the shorter connecting one. I can only think of a seemingly oxymoronic term, austere grandeur, to describe its visual impact. The stark open brick walls are in harmony with high ceilings of large classrooms, long and wide corridors and the ever-present arches. The large circular window of the library dominates the inner side of the quadrangle, as do the double-helix staircase of the library and the wide spacious flight of stone-lined steps on the outside.

 

The image that remains in even a casual visitor’s mind is that of a modern structure springing directly from the soil, grand but in no way ostentatious. A better blend of the physical appearance and conceptual foundation of an institution would be hard to find.
 

IIMA had a committee to support artistic pursuits in 1974. Matthai was its chairman, with Mrinalini Sarabhai as a permanent invitee. I was the general dogsbody of the committee. On hearing the news of Kahn’s death, we organised almost overnight an exhibition of photographs, drawings and other artefacts as a tribute to him. The response to the exhibition was overwhelming. I suggested that the large open space in the inner quadrangle be named Louis Kahn Plaza (LKP). Our committee recommended this to Samuel Paul, the then director, who immediately accepted it. Ever since then, LKP has been the venue of choice for formal functions such as the annual convocation and joyous, spontaneous activities such as the navaratri garba alike. Every visitor to LKP was struck by its grandeur. Generations of IIMA students came to associate their very careers with marching in cap and gown into the magnificence of LKP.
 

Such is the Louis Kahn legacy of IIMA, integral and symbiotic. Only a moronic, short-sighted petty administration would think of destroying any part of it, offering lame excuses of structural instability. If the Westminster Abbey is still functional after nearly a millennium, with repeated interior refurbishings leaving its appearance unchanged, can we not, with vastly advanced technology at our disposal, do the same for the icons of modern India, such as IIMA and the Lok Sabha designed by Edwin Lutyens and Herbert Baker? The latter may be a politically sensitive issue, but surely there are enough enlightened captains of industry who should raise their voice against the sacrilege about to be perpetrated on a hallowed academic institution and its heritage.
 

The writer cherishes his memories of teaching at IIMA and living on the campus